


We'll Meet Again

by SmackTheDevil



Series: The J2 Christmas Anthology [8]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - British, Army, Christmas, Falling In Love, Hanukkah, Jewish Character, Kissing, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Romance, Smoking, Soldiers, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:47:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28031862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmackTheDevil/pseuds/SmackTheDevil
Summary: Jensen is a young farmer doing his bit for the war effort on the home front in the fictional town of Westcove, Devon, England. When American G.I's come to the quiet village for their leave, Jensen meets Jared; a quiet unassuming private who changes his life forever.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Series: The J2 Christmas Anthology [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2036215
Comments: 24
Kudos: 158





	We'll Meet Again

**Author's Note:**

> 'We'll Meet Again' is story eight of The J2 Christmas Anthology, a series of twelve festive short stories for the holiday season!
> 
> I have tried to cover as many tropes, kinks, tag preferences as I can, so I hope there will be something for everyone!

Jensen Ackles saw no pride in being left behind while family and friends left England to fight on the front lines, conscription came and went for him as a farmer whose job it was feed the community. It didn’t feel fair that a lone man with so much fight in him should languish in relative comfort. Jensen slowly accepted his fate but as the war continued year after year he found himself in spells of depression despite doing good for his small rural community. Other people had it worse, all of Europe had it worse and the only way Jensen could make amends with his guilt was to serve his neighbours, look after the elderly, entertain the few but quiet evacuees who came to the village from the bombed cities and to prove himself a worthy citizen. The government had viewed the farm and Jensen to be vital to the war effort which gave the thirty-five year old a modicum of peace. It was only at night when he was sitting by his fire with his Border Collie, Shep listening to the news reports on the wireless that he felt he wanted to do more. Too many dead, too many missing. Jensen’s nights were forever lonely and riddled with guilt.

The Americans came in 1942, or so Jensen heard on the wireless and read in his local newspaper. They were being hailed the saviours of a war Great Britain had been fighting with its allies for three long years. A fight they had been losing and with a new influx of evacuated children in 1944, the Devon village saw the arrival of its own company of war weary American G.I’s who were to be housed by a few of the residents, keen to do their bit for the war effort. The people of Westcove were lucky in many ways despite losing four local men on the front because they had escaped the endless bombing the cities had suffered through and it wasn’t until the G.I’s wandered into the village that they were reminded just how blessed their wartime lives had been. 

Jensen stood at the gate of his farmhouse with Shep by his feet, a blanket of pure white snow had fallen overnight to welcome the soldiers who walked past him, nodding their heads in gratitude for the respite the people of Westcove were giving them. Jensen nodded back, handing out cigarettes and freshly baked bread rolls to the men who took them politely. The farmer had heard about the gregarious and generous Yanks but saw nothing of the legend as they shuffled slowly through the snow. Quiet except for muffled words of thanks. At the rear of the company, a tall very young looking private walked against the snowfall, the collars of his coat pulled up around his neck as he smoked the last of a cigarette. Jensen reached out with his offerings but the young man shook his head, smiling politely but with wide stunned eyes as if he had seen too much.

“They look done in.” Reginald, one of the old boys who assisted Jensen on the farm came up behind the man and his dog, casually leaning against the farmhouse wall. “I dread to think what sort of state the boys still on the front lines are like.”

“If they’re still alive to feel anything at all, Reg.” Jensen said sadly, taking a moment to reflect until he turned to the old man.   
“Where are they all going?”

“Village. They’re being put up there for their leave over Christmas.”

“Oh. I wasn’t asked. I have the room.” Jensen said, throwing a thumb over his shoulder at his sprawling brick farmhouse.

“I think they wanted to keep them all together, you know, in the village.” Reginald said, watching as the tall private turned to look over his shoulder as they disappeared down the lane into the village and out of sight.

“Well, I suppose it makes sense.”

“Aye, even the Turner’s are putting a lad up for the duration.”

“Are they really?” Jensen smirked because the Turner family were known for being severely uncharitable, even during conflict. 

“We’re all off up the Crown tonight, to welcome the Yanks.” 

“I have bread deliveries in Croftside this afternoon, I might not be back until late but I’ll come if I can find the time, Reg.” Jensen smiled.

“You’re a good lad.” Reginald smiled, slapping Jensen on the back and taking his leave. “Your father would be proud, and your mother too.”

“Hm.” Jensen nodded, turning his gaze back to the lazy footprints of the soldiers. “It’s not the war I had envisaged for myself.” He sighed and took a moment before Shep pulled him out of his reverie. “Aye, come on, boy.” He whistled, pushing away from the wall and trudging to the stables to ready his carthorse, Hermes for the trip into Croftside. 

*

The snow had fallen heavily all afternoon and well into the evening. It was late, just as Jensen had expected, by the time he returned home, attended to his duties on the farm and wandered down to the local pub. The only pub in the village that had become more than a place to drink during the war. It had stayed familiar too and as Jensen dragged his feet through the snow, the warm amber lights glowing from the tiny sash windows and the noise that filtered out of the door warmed him instantly. He checked his wristwatch and noticed that the time was close to last orders before the pub shut for the night and then saw a lone figure stood outside the pub in a mist of cigarette smoke and cold icy breath.

“You’ll catch your death out there.” Jensen said, keeping his legs moving as he stopped in front of the tall G.I who had been at the back of the line and politely refused Jensen’s gifts.

“Oh, I don’t mind, sir.” The young man nodded, although he was clearly shivering from the cold. “I’ve gotten used to the cold.”

“Yes, I suppose you have to. Are you going back in?”

“No.” The private shook his head. “I’m waitin’ outside for Mr. Turner, sir.” He nodded.

“Oh.” Jensen frowned, feeling instantly sorry for the young man. “I’m Jensen.” He smiled, offering the soldier a gloved hand which he shook lightly.

“Jared.” 

“It’s nice to meet you.”

Jared nodded, wiping his nose on his sleeve and taking a long drag on what was left of his cigarette.

“I hope the Turner’s are making you feel at home.” Jensen said, hoping for the best that a miracle might have occurred but Jared just scoffed. “I see. Well, I’m going to get a pint before last orders.”

“Sure thing, sir.” Jared nodded.

“Jensen, you can call me Jensen.”

“Sure thing.”

Jensen smiled as he walked past Jared but something stopped him from going into the pub.

“You don’t have to stay with them.” Jensen said, taking a step back. “The Turner’s, I mean. I have a big farmhouse, just over the way. I have room and I know they aren’t the most hospitable people.”

“I wouldn’t want to make any trouble, sir.” Jared said, shaking his head. “Jensen.”

“You wouldn’t be. I have plenty of spare rooms. It would be my honour.” 

Jared looked down then glanced at the pub before looking up at Jensen, he nodded.

“You’re very kind, sir. Thank you.”

“So you’ll stay, with me?”

“Yessir.” Jared nodded, smiling a touch.

“Do you have your pack?”

“It’s at the house, the Turner’s.” 

“We’ll go and fetch it, I’m one of the few people they like.” Jensen chuckled, taking a few coaxing steps toward the village after which Jared pushed himself away from the pub wall and followed, still hunched away from the cold. The farmer fell silent for a good few minutes, not wanting to bombard Jared with questions and unwanted conversations so he was surprised when the young soldier spoke up first.

“It’s real pretty here.” Jared said, sniffing and wiping his nose with his sleeve again.

“It is, yes.” Jensen smiled. “I like it. The snow can be problematic, especially with the farm but you’re right, it is pretty.”

“I like pretty things.” Jared nodded.

“So do I.” Jensen said softly before inhaling slowly. “I imagine being somewhere like Westcove for Christmas is nice.”

“Oh, I don’t really celebrate, sir.” Jared nodded.

“Oh.”

“I’m a Jew, sir.”

“Oh, forgive me. I just assumed-” Jensen started.

“I ain’t offended. I like to join in with the company when they celebrate Christmas. I think we should enjoy anythin’ we can while we get the chance, no matter what the occasion.”

“I agree.” Jensen smiled.

The pair walked up to the Turner’s small cottage and Jensen braced himself for a tirade of questions and protestations from Mrs. Turner while Jared waited at the gate and out of view. As expected, Mrs. Turner was displeased with the unnecessary upheaval but Jensen knew that she was secretly pleased with not having to share her rations with a stranger. Jensen was as pleasant as he always was whenever he had the misfortune of conversing with any of the Turner’s, of which there were six of them and apologised for the inconvenience. Jensen wasn’t really sorry at all.

Jensen prepared his old room from when he was a boy for Jared, having moved into his parents room which was the largest room in the farmhouse. Jared was grateful for everything Jensen offered him; the chance to warm himself by the fire, the attention Shep gave the young private, the comfortable bed and the bread and cheese that Jared wolfed down before the two went their separate ways at bedtime. The soldier offered his services to Jensen on the farm but was made to promise to get decent nights sleep before Jensen even considered taking Jared up on it.

“You look like you haven’t slept in months.”

“Oh I sleep, sir.” Jared said from the door way of Jensen’s old room. “But it’s always full of bad dreams.” He said plainly.

“Maybe this one night, you’ll dream of snow and pretty things.”

“I think I might, sir. G’night.”

“Good night, Jared.”

*

Jensen was up before dawn as was usual for him, he let Jared sleep for as long as the soldier needed. The snow had been relentless all night, leaving Jensen no choice but to spend most of the early hours shovelling drifts of snow in semi darkness with only the light from the house and an oil lamp to guide him. In mid December the days were so short; dawn didn’t rear its head until almost 8AM and dusk set in at three in the afternoon. Reginald and Tom, Jensen’s young farmhand were there to assit with the pigs which gave Jensen an early start with his baking for the village, keeping the noise down to a minimum so as not to wake Jared but the G.I was up and about any way.

“Good mornin’.” Jared said, wandering into the kitchen as Jensen stood at the large wooden table in the centre, kneading one of many prepared mounds of dough.

“Good morning.” Jensen smiled, wiping his hands on his apron. “How did you sleep?” 

“Just fine, thank you, sir.”

“Tea?”

“Uh.” Jared laughed. It had been the first time Jensen had seen any evidence of happiness in Jared, or for that matter a row of very white teeth.

“Goodness me.” Jensen blinked. “Sunshine on a snowy day.”

“Aw.” Jared blushed, rubbing one of his reddening cheeks with his fingers. “I don’t much like tea, sir. I have some coffee with me, and some chocolate. I’ve been savin’ it. I don’t know why. I guess it felt like a little bit of home. And I was gonna share it with the family who took me in but I didn’t.” He said, arm outstretched, offering Jensen the small tin of coffee and an unopened bar of chocolate which had ‘Hershey’s’ written on the front. “Please, take ‘em.”

“I don’t-”

“Please, as a thank you.”

Jensen nodded, taking the coffee and chocolate reluctantly from Jared’s hand. 

“Well, it looks like I’m making you coffee this morning.” Jensen chuckled.

“I mean, it ain’t anythin’ fancy, sir. Standard issue.”

“Please, call me Jensen.”

“I am tryin’ to remember that.” Jared chuckled softly. 

“Good. Well, coffee it is. And I might as well join you.”

The coffee was much nicer than Jared had lead Jensen to believe, so he couldn’t imagine what the good coffee in America must have tasted like. They agreed to save the chocolate for a later date. The two talked about ordinary things with very little talk of war or of the horrors which Jared may have seen. Jensen talked about the family he had in Nazi occupied Norway and how he hadn’t heard from them in a long while. Jared told Jensen that he had heard talk of the war ending soon, which lead them to take a few moments of personal prayer in the hope that the rumour was true. 

“I wondered why a British fella had such a fancy name.” Jared chuckled, sitting at the table while Jensen prepared his loaves for the large range oven in his kitchen. “Your ma was from Norway, huh?”

“Yes, she was. My father was English. They passed on before the war which in many ways I’m thankful for.” Jensen nodded.

“Because you would have been conscripted?”

“No, I don’t worry about that. I wanted to fight, but the government saw me and my farm as essential to the home front effort. I never stood a chance.”

“You’re lucky.”

“I’m guilty. I feel guilty about it.”

“I seen some stuff, sir.” Jared said, pulling out a half smoked cigarette from his trouser pocket which lead Jensen to grab a new pack of his own cigarettes and offer them to Jared who appeared to be smoking dog ends. Jared took the pack of cigarettes and tapped one out onto the edge of the table, nodding his thanks. He lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply, almost sinking into the wooden chair then scratched at the back of his head. “I ain’t seen a lot but I seen enough. The folks back home, they ain’t gettin’ the same men back that left ‘em. It changes a person, changes ‘em for good and there ain’t no goin’ home. I’m one of the lucky ones.”

“They will return home as heroes.” Jensen said softly.

“Broken heroes.” 

“Who fought for the freedom of millions.”

“Are you always this positive, Jensen?” Jared laughed lightly.

“No. Not at all. We all say things, every day. Whatever we hear about our bombed cities, my family in Norway and the news on the wireless we _still_ say that it is all going be well in the end because if we roll over like dogs and give in, then they’ve won.”

“I agree with that statement, wholeheartedly.” Jared nodded.

“What else can we do?”

*

Jared was keen to help Jensen out on the farm since he revealed that away from his home in Brooklyn, his grandparents had their own homestead with assorted livestock in upstate New York. Jared knew a thing or two which meant there was a welcome extra pair of hands on the Ackles farm. The pair became almost inseparable as the December days ticked over; they ate together, worked together and spent time huddled in the corner of the Crown where Jared got a taste for warm pints of ale and bonded with Shep who sat between them by the pubs open fire.

“You two have become as thick as thieves. No point getting attached and making friends, they’ll all be sent back to the front after Christmas, you mark my words.” Mr. Turner grumbled, who had taken it upon himself to butt into Jensen and Jared’s deep conversation and offer them his not wanted view of their blossoming friendship.

“But for now, the boys are here and safe and that’s all that matters.” Jensen said tightly as Jared dipped his head, scratching at the nape of his neck.

“People talk.” Mr. Turner said pointedly. Jensen, although vaguely understanding the man’s meaning just glared at him because there was little one could say to him that wouldn’t illicit some kind of snide comment. It was enough to make Mr. Turner scuttle away. “Are you alright, Jared? I’ve noticed that you’ve been scratching at your head the past few days.”

“I ain’t used to it bein’ this short and I kind of get nervous around confrontational people.” Jared sighed. “Ain’t a good thing for a soldier.” He said sadly.

“Most people dislike confrontation, Jared. You’re not unusual. Listen, I have something for you back at the house. Drink up and we’ll walk back.”

“Oh.” Jared nodded. “Okay then.” He picked up his half full pint glass and knocked the liquid back in two large gulps.

“Good heavens.”

“Got a taste for it.” Jared smirked, rising from his chair and wrapping himself up in preparation for the cold. 

The pair trudged back to the farmhouse, pleased once again to be inside as Jensen stoked the fire while Jared warmed his hands against it. There had been a few moments between them as the days had rolled by, moments that Jensen had read about in his mothers old fanciful romance books. Jared, Jensen noticed looked at him a great deal and oftentimes Jensen would hold the gaze which always made him feel relaxed and warmed his heart. They never felt uncomfortable when they sat in silence by the fireside, or if they were winding down after a day on the farm, listening to the wireless drinking coffee made with hot milk.

“You have somethin’ for me?” Jared said softly, breaking the silence.

“I do, although you may want to contain your excitement.” Jensen chuckled, playing down his very thoughtful gift for Jared as he set the fire poker in the stand by the fireplace and reached over to the mantelpiece. Jensen handed Jared a box of candles with a loose one on top of the box. “Menorah’s are hard to come by in rural Devon so I thought perhaps some candles would be sufficient. I know Hanukkah is about now, I don’t know the dates. I’m sorry, I’m quite uneducated when it comes to Judaism.”

“Aw, Jensen.” Jared said, quite overcome as he took the candles from Jensen’s hands. “This is, it’s very thoughtful of you. I-” He paused, head down looking at the box of simple white tapered candles, then sobbed.

“Oh good heavens, Jared.” Jensen said, as the young soldier leaned into the farmers open arms. “I had no intention of upsetting you.”

Jared cried into the crook of Jensen’s neck, overcome and overwhelmed. There wasn’t an inch of him that was ashamed about giving into emotions he had been holding onto for so many months. Jensen made him feel relaxed, comfortable and open. Jared wasn’t sure he fully enjoyed the sensation of being laid open so bare. Jensen stroked Jared’s head as he lowered himself down in the armchair behind him, taking the young G.I with him who buckled and knelt on the floor between Jensen’s legs who just held and rocked him until his tears slowed and was able to speak coherently.

“Forgive me, Jensen. I don’t know what came over me.” Jared sniffed, lifting his head to look at Jensen who was smiling and wiping the tears from Jared’s face.

“There is nothing to forgive. We live in tumultuous times whereby the ordinary see cruel things, we are allowed to let go of the emotions inside us.”

“You’re not like what we were told about British people.” Jared chuckled softly as Shep rested his chin on his leg, smacking his lips and blinking up at Jared.

“Well, I think we live in a world whereby we surprise one another, in good ways and bad ways.” Jensen smiled.

“Thank you for the candles. It was very kind. Made me think of my ma, lightin’ the first candle.”

“Of course it would. I’m sorry to have caused you distress.”

“You didn’t, sir.” Jared gazed up at Jensen as another moment stirred between them which again went unspoken, mistaken for nothing more than affection through new found friends. “Jensen. My friend.”

_Christmas Day 1944_

Since the war had started and Great Britain succumbed to rationing, Christmas was as lean as all the other days of the year but still the decorations went up and people came together to share what little they had to offer; making handmade crackers to pull at the table, baking what cakes they could and Jensen supplied a few fresh chickens to his neighbours in need. His and Jared’s Christmas meal was a simple affair too, a little chicken and potatoes with vegetables grown on the farm which had been stored since harvest and Jensen was able to make a little gravy too. They listened to the King’s Christmas broadcast and then a special programme of seasonal music on the wireless while they drank and smoked by the fire. Jensen rarely allowed himself time to relax and so found himself dozing just as the dusk set in. A knock on the farmhouse door woke Jared from a doze he had just slipped into, Jensen remained asleep and Jared made no attempt to wake the hard working farmer, something he was glad about because the caller wasn’t a welcome one.

Jensen woke up, frowning deeply just like one does after a nap and glanced around the farmhouse, taking a few minutes to gather his thoughts. The chair opposite him was empty and Shep was stood wagging his tail at the bottom of the stairs as Jared came down them in full uniform with his pack on his shoulder. Jensen’s stomach turned unpleasantly as he got up from his chair and approached the heartbroken looking young G.I.

“I got my orders, we’re going back.” Jared said softly as Shep circled around his legs.

“Oh, I see. That _is_ sudden.” 

“Yeah.”

“Do you have everything?” Jensen said swallowing a burgeoning lump in his throat.

“I guess, yeah.” Jared nodded. “I-I don’t suppose I’ll see you again.”

“I don’t tend to drop by Brooklyn on a whim.” Jensen chuckled lightly. 

“No.” Jared looked at Jensen with such pain in his eyes it broke the farmers heart so that he almost felt it cracking.

“You could write.” Jensen said, dashing to his old bureau in the living room and scribbling his address on the back of an envelope in pencil then shoving the paper at Jared.

“I’ll write you.” Jared nodded, pushing the envelope in his jacket pocket then offering his hand for Jensen to shake. “Thank you, for everythin’, Jen.”

“Thank _you_.” Jensen said, shaking Jared’s hand as he pulled him in for a tight hug, the both of them inhaling tears as they embraced. Jensen pulled his head back and looked at Jared who pressed his lips against Jensen’s hard. There was no real kiss, just two mouths crushed together desperately. Jared pulled away quickly, stepped toward the door and left without saying another word.

_8th May 1945 – V.E Day_

Jensen put in as much effort as he could muster when the village erupted into celebration as the end of the war was announced. Of course there was relief and thanks but after receiving only one letter from Jared in late February it was hard for Jensen to truly feel joy when he knew nothing of the soldiers fate. All bar imagining that the troops were slowly being moved out and shipped home over the coming months and that Jared was one of them, en route on a ship back to New York but the thoughts gave him little comfort. There hadn’t been a single second since Jared had left on Christmas day whereby Jensen didn’t think about him in a myriad of ways; worrying about his safety, praying that he would come back by way of some miracle, grappling with feelings of romantic love for a man and crying himself to sleep as the occasional dark thought overtook his mind. Jared had changed him in so many ways that the people in the village had started to notice. 

“See, I said we would win.” Reginald said over the pub din of singing and piano playing.

“Aye, you did that.” Jensen nodded, sipping on the pint he had been nursing for over an hour.

“You _can_ find out, you know.” Reginald said quietly.

“Find out what?”

“If he’s safe.” 

“I know.” Jensen nodded. “He was a good friend to me.”

“Polite lad.” Reginald said with a slow nod. “Very generous and very humble. Not unlike you.”

_27th December 1945_

Christmas had been a quiet affair for Jensen despite now living in a world no longer at war, his memories of the day he had spent with Jared a year earlier played heavily on his mind and with only a bar of unopened chocolate to remind him and a lightly worded letter, his thoughts were often morbid. A year and Jensen still couldn’t shake the feelings that he had developed for Jared. A part of him didn’t want to.

Jensen leaned against the wall of the farmhouse and lit a cigarette, taking a break from feeding the pigs. Winter had felt extra cold that year, Jensen supposed that perhaps it was nothing but a fantasy and merely a manifestation of his endless melancholy mood. The farmer had become less of a people person and so the image of the village postmaster jogging toward the house waving a hand at Jensen didn’t feel like a welcome visit but manners still existed so Jensen waved back.

“Afternoon, Mr. Cardew.” Jensen nodded, setting one foot on the gate as the breathless postmaster continued to wave his arm in the air. 

“Afternoon, Jensen. I had to come, I saw Reginald in the village and he told me I was to come right away.” Mr. Cardew said, thrusting an envelope at the bemused farmer. “It’s a telegram, from America. Reg said you’d want to read it.”

“I do.” Jensen said, holding his cigarette between his teeth and almost snatching the telegram from Mr. Cardew’s hand which he tore open in seconds as his heart pounded in his chest. 

“It’s a wonder it got here, the address for the post office is very wrong.” Mr. Cardew chuckled as Jensen stepped away from the gate and read the message.

_LEFT FOR ENGLAND. WILL BE ARRIVING BY SHIP AT SOUTHAMPTON. DEC 28TH. 15.00 APPROX. JARED PADALECKI._

Jensen blinked as he read the telegram, just those few brief words over and over, gently rubbing a grubby thumb over Jared’s name as a huge grin spread over his face.

“Good news, I hope.” Mr. Cardew asked, always the nosy parker but kind with it.

“Yes.” Jensen nodded, folding the telegram with care. “Yes, it’s very good news. Thank you for bringing it here to me, Mr. Cardew.”

“Don’t mention it, son.”

“Cup of tea?” Jensen asked, feeling instantly generous and grateful. 

“I don’t mind if I do, it’s bitter out here today.”

_28th December 1945, Southampton_

Jensen had left Westcove in a tizzy after leaving his farm in the capable hands of Reginald and Tom, dressed in his Sunday best; the suit he had worn for his cousins wedding a few years ago. It wasn’t anything fancy but it was smart and clean and Jensen was sure that Jared wouldn’t mind one bit. The train took Jensen directly to Southampton but hours too early which meant drinking tea in the café by the waterside and later, enjoying a pint or two in the pubs once they were open to pass the time. All he could think about was Jared, there were so sick pigs, escaped chickens or lost sheep to ponder about. Several times during his long wait for Jared’s ship, Jensen read the telegram and the one letter that Jared had sent him when the war was still on.

_Dear Jensen, I can’t write much and I don’t want to tempt fate by saying too much either. I miss you which is a pain in my ass because I already miss so many people back home. I miss your cakes and bread and your eyes, the way you looked at me. I won’t ever forget the way you looked at me. Sweet thoughts, Jensen. Jared_

Jensen had read the letter every night before bed which became as much of a part of his nightly ritual as brushing his teeth. It had been hope and it had been love. 

The ship seemed to take forever to reach the mainland as it appeared on the horizon while Jensen watched from the window of the pub. He could barely stand the thought that Jared was on board. The whole thing felt like a dream. Leaving his pint, Jensen stepped outside into the cold. The late December snowfall had subsided but the air was still bitterly cold as he pulled his collars up and flat cap down, weaving around the crowds of people, cars and stacked wooden crates. Waiting inside was too much to bear, Jensen knew he needed to be stood on the dock the moment that Jared stepped off the ship. He took a seat and lit a cigarette, watching as the ship neared the mainland and pushed down feelings of nerves and a love that he knew wasn’t proper but was unwilling to deny. Although unspoken, Jensen knew that Jared felt the same way. A person doesn’t leave their home, their family and life behind for anything less than love.

The ship finally docked an hour after its expected time of 3PM as Jensen pushed his way to the front of the crowd. There were too many people milling about; families waiting for loved ones, soldiers and merchants all pushing and shoving as the first of the passengers disembarked. Jensen lifted himself on his toes, scanning the length of the boat for the first sign of Jared. He walked along the dock toward the exit, pushing his way through the throng as he looked up and then saw him. Jared. Right there, looking as large as life, healthy and happy. Jensen tore off his cap and waved it in the air in the hope that he would catch Jared’s eye who looked as keen as Jensen felt as he too pushed his own way through the passengers.

Jensen rushed to the foot of the gangway, almost thrumming with joy as Jared stepped onto it and caught sight of Jensen for the first time in a year. Jensen grinned at him, taking tiny steps back as Jared wandered down the gangway, smiling like Jensen had never seen until they were finally face to face and noticeably in too public a place to greet one another how they truly wanted to. 

“I got your telegram.”

“I figured.” Jared grinned. “Since you’re here.” 

“Yes, of course.” Jensen chuckled lightly, curling his fingers around Jared’s jacket and walking him behind a large stack of tea crates. “I am so glad you’re well. I haven’t stopped thin-” 

“I know.” Jared said, interrupting Jensen with his words and then his mouth, kissing him quickly but keenly.

“Oh God, oh thank God for you.” Jensen sighed, resting his forehead against Jared’s shoulder as they slowly embraced.

“I’m here, my darlin’. I ain’t ever leavin’ you again.”

“And I am never letting you go.”


End file.
